Precious Moments
by MistressAli
Summary: Unfinished as of yet. It's a story of Smeagol...starting off with his relationship with Deagol, and when finished, will include his exile and loss of the ring.


Precious Moments  
By MistressAli  
Smeagol and Deagol are (c) JRR Tolkien and used without permission.

A/N: Ok...this is obviously unfinished, and will probably remain as such...but hey! Why not tease people, eh? LOL, no really, I'm going to try to finish this one of these days...for now, enjoy, hopefully.

Contains: Smeagol/Deagol. Not much in the way of swearing or violence, but there are...*gasp* Slashy seX themes. YAY! Of course, if any later stuff contains NC17 it will not be posted here, but on my page. With that out of the way...

Precious Moments

'they say temptation will destroy our love...  
the never-ending hunger...'  
-Sarah McLachlan  
While we walk, we see tree roots, thrust deep in the earth, down to the core, maybe? How very interesting, we thinks, wonders how far to dig to reach the deep insides of the land. It would be dark there, dark and warm, or maybe cold? Like spring, when warmth is coming in, yet the ground remains frozen, frozen under the surface even as flowers bloom.

Their smell is sweet, but sickens if inhaled too deeply, my love.

Like you, sweet one, you are slight and fine of face. On your head great tufts of hair curl, dark brown weaved with gold. Like a rock we once found, love, a smooth pebble, dark, with veins of white, your hair so reminds me, or maybe it reminds us of your hair? It is so smooth under my long fingers, and I love to touch it. But hard, my love, and cold. Perhaps I like the feel of your warm hair, so ssssilken... better.

**

Today we go out into the woods like we always do, love. We skirt the water, and we listen to its lovely song. Its lapping against the sand. O my love, we tumble into the bushes there, thick and green with scratchy branches, but underneath are soft dead leaves, fragrant and brown.

'Smeagol,' you whisper so sweetly in my ear. Your lips are so soft, love, softer than your hair, and they like to kiss my neck. O! I close my eyes.

'Deagol, Deagol, my love...my sweet love...' Rasping words from my lips, soft too, against your throat. I can feel your blood beating there. Nibble-nibble, but my love, I cannot taste your blood, it would hurt you so.

Smeagol and Deagol. It rhymes so lovely.

You giggle like you understand my thoughts. You roll over, clutching me, over and over we roll in the dead leaves. They smell lovely; softly decaying...they get tangled in your curls. Long fingers of gray, mine, pluck them out like butterflies from spiderwebs.

They do not fly, they crumble in my grasp.

'Smeagol, I love you...' you say again, your voice so young and boyish. O, I suppose we are both boys, then. The village would say we are young and foolish, only desiring for lust.

You raise your arms and lock them around my neck... you pull me down.

Our face are together, our mouths are breathing warm and moist. You laugh again. All I can see, my love, are your eyes of gold and blue, like summer and winter, then darkness as lids close, and our lips are touching too.

You say you loves me. I am lost in the warmth of your mouth and tongue. I loves you too, Deagol.

Your hands clutch my chest. I am free of my cotton jerkin. It is too warm. Hands roam over skin. They are a contrast; your color is lighter than mine, a light gray like feathers from mourning doves.

'Mmmm.' I purr. Pull at your clothing...silly Deagol...this weather is too fine for such coverings. Fingers fumble to pull laces free. There! They dangle loose and your shirt parts. Your skin is smooth and beautiful, my love! And your smell is like spice and earth....we wonders if the core of the world smells like that. It must.

And what does it taste of, precious Deagol? I have to know. My tongue leaves your mouth, it goes down your neck and your chest and your belly too, Deagol! You taste different than you smell, you taste like salts and sweets mixed together, you taste both clean and dusty.

You giggle. 'Oh! That tickles, Smeagol!'

I move away from your belly and return to your mouth. You have a hand in my dark hair, another on my back. Your fingers lightly scratch. I stroke your sides...you are so slim. I love the feel of ribs under skin.

I am caught in strange feelings, darling Deagol. I could stay like this with you forever. But heat is building!

The elders told us about ancient mountains of fire once. They intrigue me, dear. I am like them now...filled with thick heat, exploding! Or wanting to!

You are breathing heavy and your eyes are all heavy too, heavy and shiny. I know you burn too.

I must have more, sweet one, beautiful lover, root of my desire, flower of my lust!

You smile. 'Smeagol...' A teasing whisper into my ear, a dart of the tongue. Your hand moves further down, it rests on my bottom.

Squeeze! I purr again.

O Deagol, you make me want you more!

So now, let us go further, dear! I put my hands on your loins and in between. A mischievous grin is spread on my face and you make the sweetest sound as I touch there. A soft moan, such a contrast to the hardness I grasp.

"Oh Smeagol!" You sigh and wiggle. Your eyes are shining love for me. I know my eyes are the same, tinged with other things, sweet one, primal things.

Oh, we roll in the dry grass and rushes. Both giggling, purring with delight. I loves you and you me! There is such heat between us, dear, I fear we might set the ground aflame.

You growl like a beast; you are suddenly bold. Once you are started, Deagol, you shed your cloak of shyness. I like you both ways, sweet one.

Your hands are on me, pushing me to the ground on my back. You are such a little hunter! The grass is soft, yet scratches. I only care for the touch of your delicate fingers, you are freeing desire from my pants, love! I gasps at the touch of your hand.

You smiles at me. Your lips are poetry. Every word you speak is gold. You adorn me with your lips, you are kissing along my desire, your eyes are sparkling like fish's scales! I gasp again as you kiss, kiss and lick and finally suckle.

O! Euphoria! I cannot think of words to describe this, dear one. My body is trembling, can you feel it? You puts a hand on my loin, as if to steady you, or perhaps me.

You giggle and the sound rumbles through me, makes me think of fire mountains again, exploding, O!...my eyes squeeze close tight. I am a volcano, or becoming one, Deagol dear, I am so close to...

You pulls away and giggle so sweetly at me. I am the cat, Deagol, but here you have me like a helpless mouse! I squeak! 'Deagol! You must finish it...precioussss...'

'Or what Smeagol,' you tease and touch my nose with your fingertip. I grin at you, eyes alit.

'Ooooh, do not tempt me, dear Deagol!"

'Maybe I want you...' You whisper into my ear, raspy and passionate, 'to finish it...'

Ohh you do it. You tempt me! I place my hands on the bony ridges of your hips...they feel so lovely under my hands Deagol! Strong yet delicate!

But then the voice...the voice of the hag screams out. Over the tress her nasssty voice flies, pecking like foul birds. You tense under my hands and we both stare, stare precious, through the leaves.

"Smeagol, boy! I know you're out there! Come home at once!"

"Why does she always interrupt at the best times...' You pout, pressing your face into my neck. Sweat from your forehead cools my neck, my lips are pouting too! I do not want to leave you, sweet one, to go home to grandmother and her filthy chores. I hiss and you snuggles further.

'I hates her, Deagol!'

'You can't hate your grandmother,' You mumbles, sitting up. 'Don't say such things, Smeagol!' You touches my cheek and smile.

I smiles back to appease you. But O! how my hands clench behind me in the dirt, imagining her neck in them. I would squeeze these strong fingers so tight, love, and she would never bother us again!

We leave the bushes and you go to your house and I go to mine. The hag is waiting with her eyes glaring and I glares back. She thinks I am not right, Deagol. She thinks it is wrong to loves you, to loves the roots and things in the earth, to loves the fish and water so much.

But she is wrong, dear one...

**

The moon is ripe tonight and I cuddles into a tree base, feetsies snug in the roots. I loves this tree, it is old and I sometimes hear voices through the bark. I pretend to hear the core of the earth. Its voice is big and scary but very beautiful. I wishes I could touch it.

I hear leaves crackles and cuddle deeper. Who would be out at this hour? Most of the other hobbitses like to stay warm in their beds or in the tavern with their mugs of ale. It clouds the mind, love.

I hear the leaves whisper. 'I know you're there, Smeagol...'

I opens my eyes wide and you peeps around the tree. I grin in delight and pounce! You catches me in your arms and kisses me.

"I knew you'd be out here." You nudges your nose against mine. "You love the dark."

"Yessss."

You laugh and bites at my lips. I nips at your neck. I can almost tastes the blood underneath. It is thick and copper but I do not bite, for your cry of pain would hurt us too, my love!

"Why do you like the dark so much?" You whispers. I love your voice sweetly whispering. It is like the dark that way, quiet and mysterious and full of intrigue.

I do not answer you; it is too hard to explain, my love! The darkness is a blanket, love...protects, comforts? Ach, ssss...my love...you might not understand. I will give you something you can understand, precious.

I kisses you, offers you my tongue. Like fissssh to the bait you are so attracted, dear Deagol!

You growl. Your hunter is coming back and I growls back, delighted to see it. It makes you so exotic, love, like strange flowers that grow in the deepest woods, the places the elders tell us not to go. But we went there before, Deagol.

O! My desire heightens as your tongue, warm and pink, traces my jawline...I remembers us there in the dark forest. You laid on the ground with your hair spread out, mingling with the flowers. Ah, Deagol, I have never seen you so beautiful!

"You are fast aroused, Smeagol," you giggle, sweet handses clutching the front of my trousers. "Your thoughts are far from clean."

I sinks my teeth into your neck, but gently, gently! Your skin smells and tastes lovely, far too preciousss to break. You moan.

"O! S-s-smeagol..."

You fumbles for my mouth, whispering. Your handses have moved to my unclad chest. The night is cooler than day, love; feels so pleasant on my skin.

"Do you want me, Smeagol?"

I laughs! What a silly question, preciousss. You are so humorous. Giggling, licking at my mouth you snuggle cat-like, your head under my chin. I breathes in your soft curls, dusty and sweet, puts my fingers into their tangles.

Love, I presses my body against yours, O...we are touching all over and I trembles. You gasp.

"Is that answer enough, my love, my precious?"

The hunter is rising in you; you pushes me to the ground, one hand pressing down onto my shoulder and the other...I trembles harder...love, the other is so bold, reaching into my trousers. You squeeze and purr. O! I wonder if my desire will burn you love, it feels so hot like fire there...fire for you, Deagol, burning because of your beauty. I does wants you, Deagol. I wants you so very badly.

"You're like fire, Smeagol," you whispers and I chuckle. You sometimes read my thoughts darling, with such clarity.


End file.
